


Entropy

by Rrrowr



Category: Glee
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, First Time, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:13:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rrrowr/pseuds/Rrrowr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Blaine finds himself almost too nervous to function before his first leading performance with the Warblers, Wes offers this solution: burn off the excess energy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Entropy

It was Blaine's first time to lead the Warblers in a performance and he was nervous as all hell. The closer they got to showtime, the more Blaine felt like he was going to choke up. He knew everyone could see it. They were whispering together and glancing at him. They looked concerned, but not disappointed, and Blaine appreciated that. He was good -- he knew he was good -- but knowing he was about to have a whole audience of his peers spread in front of him made him feel as if he were about to jump out of his skin.

"Hey." Blaine jerked, startled, when a hand landed on his shoulder but it was only Wes. Brows creasing, Wes asked, "Are you okay? You don't look so great."

Swallowing around his nerves, Blaine tried to reply brightly. "I'm fine! Just excited."

"And maybe a little stressed." Wes smiled at him and patted his shoulder reassuringly. "Since this is your first performance, would you like a tip?" Blaine nodded shakily. "Come on," Wes said, squeezing Blaine's shoulder and guiding him beyond the Warblers. "It'll help you relax."

 

*

1.

Wes led Blaine to the boy's restroom near the senior commons and into one of the open stalls. He hung his blazer on the hook on the door and rolled up the right sleeve to the elbow. Blaine focused in on the deftness of Wes' fingers as he folded the cloth over itself in quick, pristine lines, and couldn't ignore how his skin tightened in anticipation. 

"The trick to dealing with anxiety," Wes was saying as he pressed into Blaine's personal space and held him against the wall of the stall, "is to redistribute the energy to different tasks. You can save some for the performance itself but you'll have to deal with the excess."

"Excess?" Blaine echoed, voice climbing with nerves.

Wes smiled. It was a handsome smile -- the kind Blaine had become accustomed to seeing ever since he'd joined the Warblers -- but a distinct amusement lay behind it now. "Relax," he said. "I'm here to help you."

Then Wes kissed him.

He kissed patiently, like he had all the time in the world to explore Blaine's mouth and take his fill, and the slow press of their mouths together soothed Blaine's nerves. He was still tense -- all too aware that in ten or fifteen minutes, he'd have a whole bunch of boys watching him dance and sing -- and the light weight of Wes' hand at the small of his back wasn't exactly helpful. He felt like some level of participation was expected out of him, some experience, but Blaine blindly jerked his way through kiss after kiss, uncertain about himself even as he responded helplessly to Wes' touch.

Wes didn't smell like what Blaine expected. Blaine had thought of sweat or dirt or oil -- things that reminded him of what he'd been told boys should be doing instead of singing. Instead, Wes smelled like cologne, faint after a long day, and chalk dust. He felt like what Blaine thought a boy should, though, and they were roughly the same size. But Wes was confident where Blaine was tentative, so when he pushed into Blaine's space and slid his hand from Blaine's back to his hip, he felt huge.

"Relax," said Wes in a low purr. "You're doing just fine."

They started off slow. Rather, Wes started off slow, cupping Blaine through his pants and squeezing him gently until Blaine's breathing became shaky. By the time Wes' hand wrapped around him, skin to skin, Blaine shuddered with his whole body, fisting his hands into the shoulders of Wes' shirt and gasping quietly into his mouth. Because he was so nervous, it took a long time for Blaine to come and when he finally did, it was weakly, like it'd been dragged out of him by tooth and claw.

"Tell me when it's too much," Wes said against Blaine's jaw and just kept moving his hand over Blaine's cock until the shudders gave way to tiny shivers, until Blaine sagged against the stall wall with a grunt. Then he tucked Blaine back into his pants with a soft pat over his open fly with his clean hand. "How do you feel? Still nervous?"

"No," Blaine answered after a moment. He was distracted, watching Wes clean off his right hand with a wad of toilet paper. It was surreal. Shaking his head, he did up his fly. "I'm good, I think."

Wes smiled brightly at him. "Wonderful," he cheered and promptly exited the bathroom stall to get to the sinks. "Grab my jacket for me, would you? I need to wash my hands."

According to Blaine's pocket watch, he had five minutes to go before he needed to be back in the senior commons. He spent some of those minutes holding Wes' blazer for him and watching Wes lather up his right arm nearly to the elbow. He spent the rest of those minutes wondering what just happened. 

The performance itself went off without a hitch. He remembered all the words, all the choreography, and was only the slightest bit distracted by Wes being at his elbow. No one seemed to notice and the Warblers commended him on a good first lead, saying they'd look forward to his future performances.

Blaine caught Wes by the elbow before everyone broke away. "I wanted to say thanks," he told Wes. "Your...your advice surprised me, but um, it was good. So, thanks."

Wes' expression, which had been rather distant and closed off when Blaine had first grabbed him, smoothed into something pleasant. "Any time," he promised. "Just let me know."

*

2.

The second time, Blaine thought he would see it coming from a few weeks off. In those few weeks, the Warblers had been rehearsing another song with Blaine as lead and he couldn't keep himself from tracking Wes the entire time, knowing his confidence was going to crash as soon as the big day arrived. If Wes was conscious of Blaine's attention, he didn't show it, and Blaine was left wondering if maybe he'd imagined those ten minutes in the bathroom last month -- if the idea of an older, experienced boy touching him was enough for him to concoct a vivid fantasy in the midst of his panic.

Blaine wished he could tell one way or the other off of Wes' behavior but despite the vast array of subtle changes in expression he saw flicker over Wes' face, the other boy seemed impossible to dissect. There was nothing in Wes' gaze to suggest anything other than a friendly interest and if Blaine approached him, Wes didn't go out of his way to avoid interaction. Blaine could appreciate not being set apart from others and being considered part of the team, but it was like all his senses had been awakened, flipped on like a switch and attuned to Wes' every move. 

It was being treated like any other Warbler when he knew what it was like to kiss Wes and feel his hands around him that finally drove Blaine to distraction and in the last few rehearsals, it showed. After Blaine started fumbling through the lyrics of a song he'd been able to sing flawlessly just yesterday, Wes raised his hand to give the Warblers a break and called him aside. While the other members dispersed around the music hall, Blaine stayed where he was, gritting his teeth against the gnawing frustration making itself at home in his gut.

Wes crossed the short distance between them with a few measured steps. He didn't seem upset, thankfully, but he did seem worried, which was perhaps worse. So when Wes asked, "Is everything okay? You've been off today," Blaine was decidedly close-lipped. 

What could he say -- that he didn't know what game Wes had been playing and that he wasn't sure if Wes was still playing it? Wes didn't stand for silence, though, not when he knew better. He wasn't the president of their club for nothing. He knew when to push and when to let things lie and he knew how to read people. So, because Blaine knew this, the way Wes' brows drew together in a sharper concern wasn't unexpected.

"You know the lyrics," Wes said. "I've been listening to you sing them perfectly for the last week. Something's changed between yesterday and today. I'd like to know what that is, Blaine." He held himself with the poise of someone from well-bred society with his hands clasped demurely before him and the same steady patience that Blaine remembered from his kisses. His eyes narrowed at the blush that crossed Blaine's cheeks and when Blaine dropped his eyes to the fold of Wes' fingers instead of the cupid bow of his lips, he made a tight, upset noise. "That's what this is about?" he demanded in a low whisper. "You should have told me." His hands dropped to his side and when he flexed them, stretching the fingers and letting them hang loose, Blaine had to tear his eyes away before he started thinking about the things Wes had done with those hands. Noticing Blaine's distraction, Wes slid his hands into his pockets. "After practice, then."

That was all it took. Rehearsal resumed without incident. Blaine's performance didn't slip further and seconds after everyone split up, he was being crowded up against the far wall from the music hall's entrance with Wes whispering soft encouragements into his ear. Blaine was jerking into the tunnel of Wes' fist and whimpering pleas into his mouth while he clung to him with his hands around his neck. It was so much easier than it had been the last time -- with the performance still a day away instead of imminent -- and he could surrender himself to the demanding drag of Wes' fingers against his skin. 

Blaine was close. He felt the pressure building inside his gut, coiling with an increasing tension every time Wes squeezed around the head of his cock. "Just a little more," he whispered, fingernails sliding along the lines of Wes' neck. "Please, Wes."

Wes kissed him hard then, open mouthed. His tongue swept in relentlessly, conquering the little sounds that Blaine couldn't keep from voicing. He pumped Blaine's cock in short strokes and fitted the two of them more closely together. When Blaine felt it -- the telling hardness that was suddenly thrust into the hollow of his hip -- he moaned, shuddering, and came.

Panting, Wes kissed Blaine lingeringly. "Better?" he asked. Leaning heavily against the wall, Blaine nodded, then inhaled sharply when Wes kissed him again. "Good," he said.

It was inexplicable -- the way that Blaine longed to drag Wes back into the circle of his arms when they broke apart. He could see from here how hard Wes was still and how stiffly he moved as he tried to put more room between them. Unlike him, Wes seemed to be the one wound up now, but it didn't show in his expression -- only in the rigid tension of his shoulders and the unsteady movement of his fingers as he unbuttoned his blazers so that he could wipe his fingers clean on his shirt. Funny how Blaine couldn't tear his eyes away from that smear -- the way that it turned the cloth clear or the way that taunted him as it disappeared under Wes' lapels as he buttoned his blazer back up. Wes glanced toward the door, curling and unfurling his fingers reflexively to relieve the stickiness clinging to his skin, and then back to Blaine. 

Without really thinking about it, Blaine beckoned to Wes. "Here, let me," he said.

Wes stepped toward him, brow raised inquiringly. "Did you need something else?"

Blaine shook his head as he reached for Wes' hand. Despite having cleaned off most of the cum off on his shirt, there were still small amounts stuck on the webbing between his fingers and Blaine thought that maybe it would be nice to help Wes clean it off. The first thing he noticed when he wrapped his hand around Wes' wrist was just how thin it was compared to the thickness of his palm. Then, when he tugged Wes closer, he felt tension jump under his skin and heard Wes suck in a quick breath and hold it.

"Relax," he told Wes, mouth twitching at the irony, and pulled out a small packet of tissues from his coat pocket. "I'm trying to help."

"Oh," Wes said, sounding a bit surprised and relieved, too. He curled his fingers around the tissue Blaine was using to clean between his fingers and said, "I can take care of it. Thank you."

"Any time," Blaine answered, laughing a bit at how the words threw him back to the last time this had happened between them.

Wes pulled away for the second time. Blaine watched him as he wiped dutifully between his fingers and then watched with more attentiveness when Wes dabbed the tissue at his tongue before scrubbing at the cuff of his blazer. It was a bit absurd but Blaine felt sort of good about having messed up Wes' precious uniform.

"Presentable?" Wes asked, turning for Blaine's inspection.

Blaine smiled lopsidedly. "Always."

*

3.

The third time had nothing to do with the Warblers' upcoming performance at all. It had to do with the four scratches on the back of Wes' neck -- scratches that Blaine knew his nails had made -- but Wes didn't need to know. He also didn't need to know the reason why Blaine was hesitating through the choreography. It wasn't because Blaine was the lead, since he was part of the harmony this time, but rather because he was shuffling behind Wes and could see, quite clearly, the reddened lines barely covered by his collar.

It was those four marks that finally made him approach Wes without prompting. 

It was long after Warbler practice and Blaine had been restless with all this pent up energy, thoughts circling ceaselessly around the idea of fitting his fingers along those scratches and making Wes groan while they kissed. It made homework an impossible venture. He couldn't write his essay without seeing his fingers holding a pen, which in turn made him think about his fingers holding Wes' cock, which then progressed to him jerking Wes off, and by the time he got to that point, there was a blot of ink in his paper from him letting his pen point sit. So he paced the halls, going from the dormitory through the commons and then finally to the library, thinking he'd find someplace peaceful.

He found Wes instead, with his back to the library entrance, and was riveted by the sight of Wes carding his fingers through his hair, rubbing at the base of his skull and steadily downwards until they were reaching the scratches at his neck and digging in. Before he really knew he was doing it, Blaine was behind Wes, hands resting gently upon the other boy's shoulders and mouth pressing warmly against the fingertips that covered the marks he'd been coveting all day. 

"Please, Wes," was all he said.

It was all he needed to say.

*

4-8.

It went on like that for weeks. Whether Blaine was singing lead or not, but always before the actual concert, they met. It progressed from the somewhat public venues of classrooms, restrooms, and library stacks to the more intimate environment of their dorm rooms. It didn't matter whose they went to so long as Wes could strip Blaine bare and lay hot kisses down his breastbone, and every time, Blaine broke unashamedly under Wes' touch.

Each meeting made Blaine greedier. While Wes was learning him -- increasingly adept at tipping Blaine over the edge -- he was doing his best to return the favor. He found out that Wes liked getting his ass grabbed and that he was a big fan of kissing, so Blaine did both. He smoothed his hands up the back of Wes' thighs and dragged him closer until they were flush against each other and he could feel the hard press of Wes' dick between his legs.

Wes was amazingly accommodating, moving against Blaine in a mockery of fucking and taking time to pull Blaine's legs high over his thighs. Wes did it because he knew Blaine liked it and that was the goal here, wasn't it -- to give him the release he needed -- but Blaine was weak to the idea of Wes wanting it just as much. That the other boy might want to do this without needing an excuse was an incredible turn on and now that Blaine had that thought in his head, he picked at it relentlessly until the thought of them fucking turned the realization that he'd never seen Wes come. 

He knew he turned Wes on. Despite the fact that Wes never undressed more than discarding his blazer and unbuttoning his shirt, Blaine could feel the evidence of his effect on Wes right now through the heavy layers that still separated them. The noises Wes made were just affirmation of what Blaine already knew. The dark, dirty whispers, the way he moaned when he rocked into Blaine particularly hard, the way he breathed and bit and smiled even when they were just kissing -- all of it fueled Blaine's abrupt desire to see Wes manhandled over the edge.

Blaine wanted to see Wes when he was pushed, when his desire was stretched so far past its limits that his rigid control slipped. Blaine wanted to feel Wes' hand squeeze around his cock, too caught up in his personal pleasure to take care of Blaine's, and he wanted Wes' movements to become so uncoordinated that the slow roll of their hips together turned into something rougher. He couldn't know for sure just yet but Blaine thought it might feel very, very good and god, was he greedy to find out for himself.

So Blaine grabbed Wes behind the knee and reeled him in, scooting closer until the clothed length of Wes' dick pressed snugly between his cheeks and he had the sharp jut of Wes' hips cutting into his thighs. Moaning as they moved together, Wes scrambled to grab at Blaine's cock, and murmurs slipped from between Blaine's lips almost without his noticing: "Fuck yes, just like that. God, Wes, I want you to come all over me." It was only then that Wes showed any measure of hesitation. Thinking it was surprise, Blaine barely stirred from his mindless susurrations. He merely powered on as he rubbed against Wes. "I want to make you come," Blaine said. "I want to see what you look like."

"Wait," Wes cut in and pulled away entirely, ignoring the way Blaine whined at being left bereft and cold. Blaine pushed himself up so he could look Wes in the eye -- so he could see for himself the reason for the sudden withdrawal -- but Wes avoided his gaze, saying: "Maybe we should stop."

"Sure," Blaine agreed at once because he knew he pushed too hard, too fast sometimes. He knew he was greedy sometimes and figured Wes just needed a moment of space. He petted Wes' arm with his palm and got so far as saying, "Next time, I --" before Wes interrupted him.

"No," Wes said. "I mean, maybe we should _stop_."

*

9.

The next handful of performances were only saved from absolute disaster because Blaine was relegated to middle of the pack, where he could be hidden by his teammates' physical size and the sheer volume of their voices. Few comments were made about Blaine's increasingly poor performances; the reason why was common knowledge, though the details weren't understood. They had to be blind not to see the way Blaine and Wes avoided each other. 

Just once, because Blaine was still a phenomenal singer outside of public performances, the council tried to give him a solo. He accepted, feeling hopeful. It was a huge mistake but it took him all the way to the day of the performance to realize just how big a mistake it really was.

It started as the crawl of nerves up his spine and the tightening of the skin over his whole body. From that morning onward, his eyes searched out and ate up every scrap of Wes' presence they could find. The soft ballad Blaine was supposed to sing turned into something dirty, gritty, and sexy without him quite meaning it to, and though the concert went flawlessly in ways that the last few performances hadn't, Blaine was still left feeling miserable. He bowed his head gratefully to the applause and let the Warblers swarm around him in support but his thoughts remained: everything he had just done was _wrong._

Usually, when a song was done, Blaine could relax again. This time, though, there was nothing left to look forward to -- no song for which to prepare himself, no audience to pander. His high-strung nerves told him differently: there was still something worth waiting for. He knew full well what he was looking forward to already. Even without the way his body seemed to tune itself to Wes' appearance as a way of confirmation, the way his cock hung full and heavy between his legs would have been proof enough. It was just something that happened when he was going to be singing but he had no way to relieve it. He been trying -- _desperately_ \-- to do it on his own and succeeding only with great difficulty, left to feel worn and empty afterward. This time would be no different. It used to be that a Warbler performance meant that he and Wes would be together, but now that Wes wasn't even looking at him, let alone touching him, Blaine was forced to wonder if it would be easier to find what he needed elsewhere rather than wait Wes out.

Later, Blaine would tell himself that the boy he took back to his dorm simply wasn't his type. He was slender and dark-haired and pretty, but he gave in too easily. His moans were obnoxious and his kisses were without finesse. His responses to Blaine's touch involved total surrender, putting up no resistance whatsoever when Blaine pushed down his pants far enough to get to his cock. When made the other boy come, Blaine couldn't help examining the sight of his own hand, wrapped around a softening cock and streaked in white. Blaine allowed himself to be pushed onto his back, reacting instinctively to the warmth that suddenly enveloped him, but he was still dazedly looking at his own hand, peering through his fingers at the light and watching how cum bridged the gaps in thin threads. 

Wes had always had the urge to wash as soon as he'd made Blaine come, but just before things had ended between them, that impulse had come less urgently. In the soft moments of Blaine's after glow, Wes had become someone else -- someone who took pleasure in that of another, someone who would pet away Blaine's drowsiness and breathe along the sweaty dip of his breastbone. He would always slip away eventually, but for those moments, Blaine had made Wes his. There had been a bone deep satisfaction with that and as much as he could appreciate the light touch of the boy he had right now, he needed something more. He needed heat. He wanted Wes' cum on his fingers and Wes' body over him. He needed Wes -- with his words and presence and heartfelt passion.

It was one of the more miserable realizations of his life.

*

10.

Blaine had to hand it to Wes; he'd played jealousy so cool that Blaine hadn't thought he was getting to him at all until he was being shoved into a restroom just before they were due to go out for their performance for Invitationals. He'd panicked for a split second, thinking the worst, but it was Wes, pressing him bodily against the tiled walls without bothering to hide them away in one of the stalls. They were out in the open to anyone who walked in and Wes didn't seem to care. 

He kissed Blaine brutally. Gone was the semblance of patience and in its place, Wes' distress made itself known. His hands framed Blaine's jaw, thumbs pressing hard against his cheeks, and his kisses smothered the small noises that came with them. Blaine clung back, relieved. He welcomed Wes wholly, let himself be possessed by Wes' fiery kisses for a few moments before he laid his fingers against the back of Wes' neck, where the four scratches he'd left behind weeks ago had turned into thin, pink scars. He returned Wes' kisses with slow, deep draws into which Wes shuddered, breathing shakily. Eventually, it was them mouthing shallowly at each other with their drive to swallow each other whole calmed into something gentler.

"I wanted you," Wes confessed. "I thought you were waiting, but then--"

Blaine cut him off with a kiss and put his hands on Wes' shoulders. For a moment, Wes looked utterly distraught as Blaine pushed at him, but then Blaine told him, "I never stopped wanting you," as he turned them so that they'd exchanged places. Wes went easily, anxiety melting into curiosity once he realized that he wasn't being rejected. Blaine smiled and said, "I'd like to see you."

Wes seemed surprised. "See me?"

"And touch you," Blaine agreed, glancing down shyly as he did so. He hooked his fingers in Wes' belt loops and pulled on them so that they were touching from knee to hip with Wes' shoulders still flush against the wall. "Did you think I never would?”

"Blaine," Wes sighed.

Wes' lips quirked a bit when their foreheads touched and he shifted just enough that Blaine could feel how much he was affected by the few kisses they'd shared so far. Immediately, Blaine's eyes rose to take in the twist of his lips and the hopeful lift of his brows. It was amazing to even be able to read the feeling behind it and there was only one thing -- a lone, dirty desire -- that Blaine still wanted to hear. He could tell as soon as Wes understood. It was in the dip of his lashes and the way his mouth parted to let a soft chuckle slip out. Wes curled his fingers at the nape of Blaine's neck and pulled him to the side so that his lips brushed against his jaw and then over his sideburns to his ear. 

He could hear the raw quality of Wes' voice even when it was a whisper: " _Please._ "

Blaine felt like a broken dam, with every internalized desire suddenly allowed its freedom. There was no resisting Wes' slender throat or the lines of muscle and tendon that begged to be kissed and taken and tasted. Wes' neck arched under Blaine's mouth and then there was the rumble of his moan under his tongue. Blaine wasn't sure if Wes would even be amenable, but when he bit down gently on the juncture that led to his shoulder, he was grateful for the way Wes clutched him closer as a kind of confirmation of what he'd hoped. When Wes' whole body rolled with a ferocity that actually briefly lifted him from the the wall, Blaine kissed him -- dark and dirty and wonderful -- back against it while his hands moved to cover the jut of Wes' hips.

"I'm not so great at keeping handjobs tidy like you," Blaine told Wes between deep, dirty-wet kisses. He laughed breathlessly into Wes' mouth and ignored his affronted noises over possible ruining of their uniforms. "Don't worry. I can do you one better."

Dropping to his knees made him feel more powerful than he'd anticipated. It was hard not to appreciate that when a single upward glance gave him Wes' expression -- overwhelmed, eyes hot with want, and the faltering swipe of his tongue over his lower lip. It was astounding, too, how little Wes' gaze wavered from Blaine as he undid the belt and zipper in front of him, but not so much as how the scrutiny turned Blaine almost playful in his actions. Blaine supposed that it shouldn't have been as much of a surprise as it kind of was. They had been, after all, doing this kind of thing together for so long. A few changes in the game here or there were hardly going to make him feel uncomfortable now.

The only big step was getting the real thing in his hands. Thus far, Blaine'd only felt the impression of it through layers of clothing and the rest of his fantasies were heavily supplemented by his imagination. He thought that maybe Wes would be long and slender like the rest of him, but what he finally took into his mouth was different -- shorter and thicker and still growing while Blaine suckled experimentally. 

It was better than any of his invented situations. The weight of Wes' cock on his tongue was impossible to dismiss as his imagination -- as was the tight fist of Wes' fingers in the hair behind his ear. Wes wasn't guiding him or forcing Blaine to go further than he wished; he was merely holding on, fingers twitching just so whenever Blaine pulled back far enough to flick his tongue over the tip of his cock. He was hungry for this -- hungry enough that he couldn't take Wes in deep enough or for long enough to feel completely satisfied. He savored the drag across his tongue and lips, liked how it had been a bit rough in the beginning but was now wet and slick and easy from his spit. There were sounds, too. Wes was holding in as many of them as he could behind a bitten lip, probably more aware than Blaine was of the unlocked door at his back, and between Wes sucking in harsh, wet breaths, there were the sounds Blaine was making on his own: moans around Wes' length that pulsed in time with the bob of his head, made intermittent by the head of Wes' cock. It was sexy to hear all that noise mix together. He had a gut-deep response to it and reached to palm at himself through his pants.

It might be a bit much, he realized, to do what he was about to do on top of this, but he couldn't find it in him to care if it was overwhelming. Let it be, he thought. He wanted it to be too much. That way, Wes would be coming down his throat and maybe then, the wordless yearning in his chest would be quenched. 

Blaine pulled back, smacking his lips happily against the tip, and was gratified to hear Wes' protest become a softly muttered curse as Blaine pulled out his cock so that he could fist it in the open. He licked a stripe over his palm before wrapping it around himself and tilting his face up to Wes' cock, murmuring, "Come back here," and taking it right back between his lips.

"Can't be serious," Wes groaned.

Echoing Wes' disbelief with a whine of his own, Blaine nestled closer to the split of Wes' fly, until the faint metallic scent of his zipper was mixed in with the musk. He didn't draw back. He stayed where he was -- with Wes stretching his mouth so much that his jaw was aching -- and tongued and sucked and breathed tightly as he pulled frantically at his own cock. He had to squeeze his eyes shut because he was crossing the line into _overwhelming_ and Blaine wasn't sure if he could take the sight of Wes watching him on top of how much he was getting off on blowing him.

Wes slid his hand under Blaine's ear and over his cheek in a brief, affectionate gesture and when Blaine leaned into it, he made a noise of absolute helplessness right as his hips jerked forward shallowly. It was enough -- that split second of too much that made Blaine's body stiffen up in panic and then he was coming over the floor between Wes' feet and feeling Wes' cum fill his mouth at the same time. Blaine tried to swallow down as much as he could, backing off to make room and abandoning his own cock in order milk Wes of everything he had.

"Shit," Wes hissed when Blaine wiped around his mouth with his fingers and sucked them clean.

Blaine agreed with a hum. "I should have done that every time you got me off instead of letting you wash it down the sink," he said and promptly grimaced at how rough he sounded.

"Your voice." Wes was frowning as he helped Blaine to his feet. "Invitationals... I shouldn't have let you, Blaine."

"I wanted to," Blaine told him. He closed the narrow distance between them and when the movement brought their cocks together -- soft now, but apparently open to renewing interest -- he tried to bear his shudder with grace. For a moment, Blaine seriously considered whether it would be worth how hoarse his voice would sound if he blew Wes all over again. "Or is the mess on the floor not enough proof of that?" he asked, leaning in to kiss the concern out of Wes' frown. He smiled, stroking his fingers along the side of Wes' neck and thinking that he might not mind doing this kind of thing more frequently. "It was worth it."

Wes laughed, nudging Blaine back a bit so that they could put themselves together, but as soon as they were presentable again, he gathered Blaine's hands in his. He laced their fingers together and made a soft inquiry against them: "Ready to go out there?"

Wes didn't speak aloud of promises. There were no offers, no spontaneous confessions -- nothing that would raise Blaine's hopes for something beyond what they'd shared here. He didn't have to. It was all there in the curve of his mouth and the gleam in his eye. It was in the fierce grip of his fingers and the easy squaring of his shoulders. It was there when Blaine squeezed his fingers around Wes' and when he met his gaze above their joined hands.

Blaine's reply was simple -- not the plea that had marked their interactions thus far, but something new, something different. Saying it felt like a delightful step in the right direction:

"Yes."


End file.
